Haunted
by Iona Graham
Summary: A face from Kid's past catches up with him.


**Utah Territory - 27 August**

"Guilty."

It hadn't taken long for the five man jury to come to a unanimous verdict. All that was left now was for the Judge to pass sentence.

He'd no expectations of a fair hearing; after all he was a stranger here. Jacob Crowley, however, since arriving in the town 15 years ago had made himself very popular. When Sheriff Lawson retired, the townsfolk persuaded Crowley to take up the vacant post and his success had more than justified their faith.

Three people testified to having seen the defendant shoot the Sheriff in cold blood. When given his chance to speak the prisoner didn't deny it. He stood before the court and stated firmly and clearly his reason for killing Sheriff Crowley. They hadn't believed him. Deep down he knew no matter what he said, without any one to corroborate his story, his fate was sealed.

An expectant hush fell over the packed courtroom as everyone waited for the man's destiny to be decided.

At a sign from the Judge the prisoner rose to his feet. He stood, stiff-backed, as Judge Gabriel spoke.

"Thaddeus Jones, you have been found guilty by this jury. The sentence for murder is death. The territory of Utah does however allow the condemned man to choose the means by which he is to die. You have the choice of a firing squad or the hangman."

The words took a few moments to sink in. Not much of a choice. But a decision had to be made. Better to die quickly from a bullet than the other way.

"You have shown no sign of remorse for your crime. You will be returned to your prison where I trust you will reflect upon your present situation and the sentence that awaits you. At 9 am on the 28th day of August you will be taken to an enclosure, within the jail yard and at said time and place you will be executed by firing squad." There was a momentary silence. "And may God have mercy upon your soul."

Kid turned to look over his shoulder, searching the courtroom for the one familiar face he needed to see.

A wall of angry, hostile faces met his gaze. Confusion reigned amongst the townsfolk, plainly not happy with the Judge's sentence. Angry cries of: "lynch him" and "string him up," rolled around the paneled room. Two men ran towards the entrance yelling for someone to fetch a rope. Grasping hands reached out, determined on dragging the murderer outside and stringing him up from the nearest available tree.

A dark feeling gripped him as he realized what they intended to do.

_Heyes, where are you?_

Sick with fear, Kid looked towards his guards for assurance that they would prevent the mob carrying out their own particular brand of justice. Four officers formed a close cordon around the condemned man, while the others pushed back the clamoring townsfolk. Kid was jostled and shoved hurriedly from the building; back to the jail.

He was returned to his cell relatively unscathed. Alone in the small, stone-walled room there was little he could do but reflect on recent events.

_How had he gotten himself into this situation?_

He doubted even his partner's brilliant mind would be able to figure a way out: that is, if he got here in time. Withless than a day of life left, Kid didn't hold much hope. Slumped on the low bed he thought back to the previous afternoon when he had arrived in town, expecting to meet up with Heyes.

Riding past the sheriff's office he'd smiled to himself on seeing the unfamiliar name: 'Sheriff Jacob Crowley.' He'd then headed to the saloon for a beer while he waited for his partner to arrive. He'd scarcely taken a single swallow when he heard the batwing doors swing open. He'd turned at the sound, hoping to see Heyes stride into the room.

The face that greeted him was one he thought he would never see again, one imprinted on his memory since his childhood in Kansas. It had haunted his nightmares; trailed him through the years and finally caught up with him here in a town in Utah. The man standing before him was fatter, his hair grayer, but he still carried the scar running from the edge of his right eye to his jaw line.

Kid doubted if Crowley was even his real name.

Memories of that one day over twenty years before flooded back; the day when the innocence of childhood ended. The raiders descended on his home. He'd obeyed his mother's orders to hide and then spent the rest of his life wishing that he'd tried to do something to protect her and his brothers.

Crouching, petrified, behind a woodpile he had watched one of the raiders stride directly towards his hiding place as if sensing the boy's terror. Through a gap between the logs Jed saw the man's features clearly. He'd stopped only feet away, turning away when one of his companions urged him to leave.

Han found Jed later, numb with shock, still in his hiding place. Eventually the older boy persuaded him it was safe to come out, but to this day Kid could remember the acrid smell of smoke that hung in the air and the face of one of his family's killers.

Downing his drink, he had left the saloon. He was determined to confront the man and... _And what? _Kid had no idea. But - of one thing he was sure. He had to face him.

Crowley's reaction to Kid's accusation was disdain. "Always knew I'd missed one of you sodbusters. You're no better than a plague of locusts."

Something snapped within Kid. Blind to the consequences, his gun was in his hand and he fired the fatal shot.

He'd always wondered what he would do if he ever saw the man again; whether he would have the resolve to walk away. Guess he knew the answer to that now. Everything had happened so quickly after that: his arrest, the trial, the sentence. He could only hope Heyes would get there before it was all over.

The sound of the outer office door slamming shut woke Kid from a fitful sleep. He lay still, listening to the murmur of voices filtering down the corridor, trying to make out what was being said. Heyes' voice raised in agitation brought him to his feet. More voices joined in, then there was silence.

Kid waited, impatiently, until he heard footsteps coming towards his cell. He quit his pacing and pressed his face to the grill. The deputy's face appeared in front of him. He was alone.

"Had to lock your friend up in the other cell block. Caused quite a furor out there trying to persuade me to let him see you. Told him you ain't allowed no visitors and that he'll see you soon enough; when you take your final steps out into that yard tomorrow."

Kid took a deep breath, forcing down the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. "How long are you going to keep him locked up?"

"He'll be released tomorrow - when it's over."

"I need to see my friend. I need to explain everything." Kid no longer even tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. He had no pride left.

"No visitors. Them's the orders." The deputy turned without uttering another word and walked back to his office.

Kid's shoulders slumped. Defeated, he crossed to the cell window gripping the bars until his knuckles grew white.

_Maybe Heyes had a plan: after all he'd got himself thrown into jail before in order to break his partner out. _A glimmer of hope flickered in his mind and was quickly extinguished.

_Once free they would both have to flee south into Mexico._

"Oh damn it!" Kid banged his fist against the stone wall and sank down onto the bed, burying his head in his hands.

It was all such a mess. He didn't want Heyesto lose his chance of amnesty for being associated with Thaddeus Jones, a convicted sheriff killer. Kid lay down on the mattress, staring bleakly at the ceiling. He would just have to accept his fate.

The gray light of dawn chased away the darkness of the night. Kid awoke in confusion, unsure for a moment where he was. Hearing sounds in the yard outside, Kid rose to his feet and peered through the barred window.

Already preparations were being made. A coffin had been placed on the ground next to one of the walls and seats had been set out for the select few townsfolk invited to witness the proceedings.

Footsteps sounded from along the corridor. A key grated in the lock, the door swung open. A guard brought in his breakfast tray then hastily retreated locking the door firmly behind him.

It seemed only moments later that the door was thrust open again and his escort awaited him.

His time was up.

"On your feet," the guard barked.

Wearily, Kid pushed himself off the bed. His breakfast tray remained untouched. For once in his life he didn't have the appetite. Beside the tray lay his hat and a sealed envelope marked for 'Joshua Smith.' In the letter he tried to explain as best he could, without jeopardizing Heyes' chance of amnesty, why he had killed Crowley. Kid hoped his partner would understand his reason for throwing away his life in one moment of revenge.

"Turn and face the wall. Hands behind you."

Kid felt the cold metal of the handcuffs snap shut around his wrists. He'd prayed, endlessly, for a miracle; hoped that it was all a nightmare, that he would wake up. Now, fully resigned to what was about to happen he stepped into the corridor with his armed escort.

Kid emerged into the sunlit courtyard, a minister and three guards following close behind. He strode, calmly, towards the wall, stopping and turning when instructed to do so. Reverend Phillips read a short passage from his prayer book then moved away. One of his escorts approached the condemned prisoner ready to place a blindfold over his eyes. Kid shook his head and the man retreated to a safe distance.

Sensing Heyes' presence, Kid turned his head in the direction of the cell block. For a brief moment the eyes of the two partners met and held, acknowledging each other for one last time.

Kid was the first to break eye contact, focusing his attention on the far wall of the compound.

The four man firing squad stepped into place. At a signal from their Captain, the men raised their rifles.

Taking a deep breath, Kid closed his mind to the sounds around him.

_Take care of yourself, Heyes. We had some good times, huh?_

"Ready."

_Sorry I won't be there to watch your back now._

"Aim."

_And don't give up on that amnesty._

"Fire!"

The sweet smell of wood-smoke drew Heyes from the warm embrace of the brown-haired temptress about whom he had been dreaming.

The only sounds he could hear were the song of the crickets and the snapping of burning twigs on the fire. An owl flew silently overhead into the cover of the trees.

Heyes propped himself on one elbow.

His partner sat across from him, staring into the flickering flames, sheepskin jacket pulled tight around him and a mug of coffee clutched between shaking hands.

"You alright, Kid?"

Two tired blue eyes looked back at him from across the campfire. Heyes had seen that haunted look before; whenever that nightmare occurred. At first Kid refused to divulge anything about the dreams. Heyes persisted and eventually managed to prise the details from him. The dreams came when Kid was physically and mentally exhausted by days of endless running from a posse or a bounty hunter. They had managed to shake off the latest pursuit but it had taken its toll on his partner. This time had shaken him more than usual.

Kid reached forward and fed more wood into the fire.

Heyes threw off the blankets and got to his feet. "You reckon you got enough wood on that fire Kid?" The night air still held some warmth after the heat of the day.

"I'm cold."

"Uh huh? You want me to make a start on chopping down a few more trees?"

"Sure, Heyes. That'd be good," Kid replied absently.

Heyes frowned at his partner's response. He found himself a mug and poured some coffee from the pot steaming at the edge of the fire. Taking a sip, he spluttered in disgust and tipped the remainder of the liquid into the ground.

"You've no cause to complain about my coffee now. That stuff will keep you awake for a week. It's so strong you could do a jig on it."

Kid shot his partner a look from across the rim of his own mug.

Heyes turned towards his gear and searched around in his saddlebags until he found a bottle of whiskey he kept for emergencies. "Here, have this." He poured some and handed it to Kid. "It'll do you more good than that coffee."

"Thanks." Kid took the mug from his friend's outstretched hand but remained brooding, staring into the fire.

Heyes seated himself on the stump of a fallen tree. "You want to talk about it?"

He couldn't fail to notice the guarded look in the other man's eyes. There was silence for a moment then Kid spoke.

"I can't shake the feeling it's a warning; that one day I'll ride into a town and he'll be there - facing me. What'd I do? Would I...? I dunno. I really don't know. Heyes, what if I can't stop myself?"

"After all this time he could be dead." Heyes knew by the look on his partner's face that he wasn't convinced. "It's a big country Kid. What's the chance of us bumping into him?"

"Heyes, how often have we been recognized by people we've robbed? It can only be a matter of time before we meet up with him."

Heyes remained silent. He didn't think there was anything he could say that would ease his partner's fears.

"I suppose we could just avoid Utah in the future." Kid eventually broke the silence. A glimmer of a smile appeared on his face.

Heyes grinned back. "Sound's like a plan, Kid. Now try'n get some rest."

"Okay, Heyes." Kid moved to his bedroll and lay down. He wanted nothing more than to sleep but he knew couldn't. He had to stay awake. He didn't want the nightmare to return.

Heyes sat for a while staring pensively into the dancing flames of the campfire. Tomorrow they would arrive in Peach Springs. There was a dance hall there and a certain young woman of whom Kid was very fond. Her captivating charms were usually enough to lighten his partner's mood.

The crackling of the campfire soon had a soothing effect on the blond ex-outlaw. The tension drained from his body and despite his fears his eyes began to close.

Much to Heyes' relief Kid finally let go of the nightmare and slept.

_Authors Notes_

_I did some research and found that Utah was a territory, which allowed the condemned to choose between a firing squad and hanging_

_Quote - "Utah was unique in that the territory's practice of allowing the condemned his choice of execution stems from a religious doctrine: only through choosing a method of execution which results in blood being "spilled" (or shed) can the condemned hope to receive forgiveness in the next life."_


End file.
